Valyrian is in bold for this chapter
RHAENYRA
"In Common!" the shark orders.
"Very well," her husband says.
"Daemon," she says before he can come any closer, before he can risk himself even further for… for what? "This isn't worth your life."
"Of course you are. Besides, I have insurance on top of insurance. Dragons are restless creatures, after all; we always have an exit."
It appears Rhaenys was present as well when they wrote their script. Promising, if a little late.
She wonders why the old viper does not approach to ensure they do not whisper in Valyrian — not that they couldn't simply use obscure words and metaphors, but still. And then she realizes that he has no insurance via keys like the shark does. Apparently, he does not think his daughter is strategically valuable enough to be turned into a hostage. Still, the green viper places the shark between herself and Daemon.
That moment of speculation is cut short when her husband reaches her. She embarrassingly tries to throw herself into his arms like some lovesick maiden, but he stumbles back and appraises the state of her clothing. "Oh, Rhaenyra, this is my favourite coat. Also, I'm about to climb onto a fire-breathing dragon."
No one offers objections or insults. Likely because the men had also removed any capes or long cloaks before wading into the fuel-soaked straw. The shark had not even bothered to wear his precious white cloak tonight. The men remained mostly unscathed by wearing high boots and remaining upright, but both women on the pyre, who wore long skirts and had knelt for children, they are human torches.
This pyre of mutually assured destruction was definitely designed by a man.
Daemon removes his outer coat and folds it over his arm. He goes to hand it to the green viper, then notes her equally soiled state. "I suppose you truly could light the way tonight."
He then considers the shark, but the shark has his hands full with Rhaenyra. He cleverly saves Ser Harrold for his last option. Ser Harrold seems rightfully indignant at being reduced to a valet for an egg basket and a coat, but he accepts it nevertheless. Daemon appraises him. "Nice sword."
The shark chuckles.
He turns back to face her and takes another step. Her blood courses strong and hot and alive, vaporizing that last trace of numbness. As much as she wants to feel, to be awake and alive once more, she's terrified of what this loss means. You should never thaw frozen flesh if you expect it to freeze once more.
When the shark pulls her back underwater, she will not be able to go numb again.
The shark does not waste time. The shark remains latched on and extends his free arm to block Daemon's approach. "Leave room for the Seven," he says like it's a Maiden's Day ball. She suspects he means to prevent whispers rather than touch.
Daemon does not push. To push means to bring this whole encounter to an end. So instead he ignores the shark and looks only to Rhaenyra. He is just close enough to hold her face in his warm hands, and any pain remaining to her turns to fire. He traces a thumb over her bruised cheek. But then he remembers the shark, and the fact that the shark likely enjoys the chance to display his work.
He moves his hands to her own instead, making obvious the golden chains. His hands are far warmer than hers, and she only now feels how cold she is. He feels it too and spares a moment to rub them between his own.
The shark tries to provoke him. "What was that you once said, about how Her Gr—"
"No one cares," he dismisses him. Daemon Targaryen ignores the shark. But he does not ignore the chains. He examines the length that links her wrists. "These are nicer than ours," he admits.
"Gods be good," exclaim the green viper and Ser Harrold. The shark just tenses beside her.
She smiles. "A family heirloom, I'm told. They were apparently Queen Rhaena's."
"I would think so, this type fell out of favour long ago." Before the shark can stop him, he leans in to kiss her cheek and whisper quickly in Valyrian. "They're fragile." He pulls away just as quickly and spends more time on her hands; their audience has no clue when he shows her in just what way the chains are fragile.
And then he sees it, the fact that the shark never linked the cuffs to her waist. The fact that while they remain attached to her neck by a long chain, she can raise her hands at any time. He pointedly looks her in the eyes, then her waist, then her hands, then her eyes again. He shakes his head. Daemon Targaryen is telling her not to cause trouble. Aemond should have been patient; the Pink Dread would make for a fearsome mount come this day.
He moves his eyes and one hand to her neck. "I fear this might be partially my fault," he says as he traces along her throat. The shark says something, but they both remember that sharks cannot speak.
"It is definitely your fault," she says. But she leans into his touch all the same.
His smirk is genuine if a little melancholic. "You've had worse. Just be grateful I didn't say muzzle."
"Daemon. Stop."
He actually does, thank the gods. The shark has enough ideas.
He's about to return to his script, but she knows it would seem unnatural for him to do most of the speaking; she only hopes he's prepared for an exchange rather than a delivery. "I'm sorry I kept the note. It was stupid and weak to do so. Although," she gives the green viper a resentful look, "it's not like I expected to be stabbed by a snake and stripped in my sleep, so mayhaps the blame does not lie entirely with me."
"What?" he blurts without clarifying which part he refers to. Clearly, he was not prepared for that. Then he regains his focus. He slips back into those practiced double-meaning words. "No, Rhaenyra. It was me. Apparently, I have this problem where I feel I need do everything myself. Going rogue, is how Rhaena phrased it. A rogue prince is one thing, but a rogue king… kind of a contradictory term. I think I can only be one or the other. I think it's time to give one up."
She honestly inspects his hands to see if Rhaena wrote notes for him. But no, he appears to have memorized them. Something else does mar his skin. She takes his left hand into both of hers, the one that is marred with claw marks, some clearly so deep they'd drawn blood.
"Baela is not doing well," she guesses.
"You could say that."
"I think it might be time to find her another outlet. She's going to tear you to shreds someday."
"That day came and went. She just went for a different target."
Whatever he means, she knows he did not stop her. He never stops her.
She follows one of his habitual scans of the men against the wall. The moon rises higher and higher, and she can better see Tyland's face. Daemon is about to proceed with his script, but she stops him. Whatever important message he might have, this is urgent too. And best there be witnesses. Best Tyland be a witness. "Will the Velaryons obey a royal order from the Queen-in-Chains, relayed by the Rogue Prince?"
"If they choose to believe me."
"They'll choose to believe you."
Rhaenyra had long suspected that, in time, Rhaena and Jace would grow into the stronger match. But they need Velaryon blood on the Driftwood Throne, and Baela and Luke are siblings in too much a non-Targaryen way to ever be a good match. Honestly, she thought the best match for Baela was with doing whatever she wants, and it feels wrong to deprive her of that because of the choices Rhaenyra herself had made.
But this is war, and she needs to think about their safety. The Hightowers cannot justify another absurd 'annulment' without it presenting as a pattern. She has to make the choice. "Wed Luke to Rhaena immediately." She glares at Tyland as she speaks, and he actually flinches. Daemon withdraws his hands from her own.
She turns back to Daemon. "Once they're wed, have the Velaryons name Rhaena as Luke's heir — should misfortune strike, she has a strong claim and a preexisting expectation of the Lady's seat. There's plenty of precedent, and I cannot imagine Rhaenys will object."
She's pushing her luck and suspects the Hightowers will not allow her to pass further strategy on, so she trusts that her family will hear what remains unsaid. Baela needs more time, but she cannot fly about the realm both unattached and as the supposed 'heir' to Driftmark; it's too much temptation for the Greens. This should afford the girls some protection and appease Rhaenys's concern for bloodlines — without calling Joffrey's parentage into question.
Everyone has the grace to look guilty, confirming her suspicions that a plan was indeed in the works. She hopes she fully broke his nose. She turns back to Daemon, but he looks away to scan their audience; he is more thorough than before. His face is stone when he turns back to her. "Very well, I will pass your message on."
"Daemon, what—"
"Rhaenyra," he implores her. "We have little time, and this is important. I'm here because I need to tell you something. Something essential about our family. The reason I lashed out at Jacaerys—"
Oh, good. He's reminding her that she has to kill him later. "Daemon, I've had a long… I don't know. I lost track of time after the snake incident."
"What?"
"But I have spent a long stretch of time subjected to the horrible actions of those who then try to justify them to me. I do not need it from you too."
"That's not what this is, Rhaenyra. He unwittingly told me something I'd always known, but did not want to know." He ponders a moment. "I suppose there's a Hightower in all of us."
"Daemon," she says, when what she means is stick to your Rhaenys-and-Rhaena-and-whoever-else-approved script so I don't kill you and accidentally reveal that the shark didn't chain me properly before I get to use that lapse to my advantage.
"Right." He eyes their audience, then fixes his eyes on hers. He takes her hands into his own again. "I know why you felt it so important to return so soon. I know the promise you made to your father. But I didn't before. Jacaerys thought I knew; you thought I knew, but I didn't."
He never told him. He told her the day he named her heir, but he never told him. Why?
"I was already having quite the day, and I think that might have… pushed me over the edge."
Oh, right. That's why. "Daemon, you cannot blame anyone for pushing you over the edge when you choose to live there."
She thinks the shark is still trying to comment, but sharks still do not speak.
He lets go to wave his hands in frustration. "Rhaenyra. Just. I'm not. Alright? So… just listen. Alright?"
"You choked my son," she says in her I'm-about-to-lock-you-in-the dragonmont-and-tell-everyone-I-don't-know-where-you-are voice.
"Apparently it's a family trait."
The viper and the shark both huff.
"What?"
"Never mind. Listen. I never knew. And neither did Rhaenys. Not even at the end." Caraxes pipes up to confirm that Daemon is indeed referring to his previous rider, that Aemon never told Rhaenys, even as he was leaving for war. And that even though she was his sole heir and a woman-grown, he did not consider her the heir.
Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.
Queen Rhaenyra looks down to remind herself that she is, indeed, a human torch. "Daemon, if this is you trying to be encouraging, let me tell you that it's having the opposite effect."
"I'm not trying to be encouraging. I'm trying to make a point. When I asked Rhaenys —"
"She choked you?"
"Rhaenyra." He actually tries to copy her exasperated Daemon voice. "This is important."
She shakes her head but she does let him continue — mostly because they're standing on a pyre surrounded by vipers. She even lets him take her hands again — mostly because they're standing on a cold pyre surrounded by vipers.
And Rhaenyra is no longer numb to the cold.
"When I told her, do you know what she said? She said that all she knew were the words she'd heard him whisper when he was troubled. Words that made no sense to either of us, but I think they might to you."
"What is this?" the shark demands.
"This relates to the family legacy, Cole. It's essential. And if Rhaenyra doesn't hear it, your pretender never will."
"Let him continue," the green viper says. Of course.
Of course…
"The Song of Ice and Fire?" Rhaenyra offers. "He knew the last words?"
Daemon hesitates for a moment, then he takes it. "Yes, I suppose he did." He appraises their chaperones to see if he can get away with it; he decides that he can. "And those words were," he lowers his voice and switches to Valyrian poetics, "I'm here because we have a job for you, the most essential job there is. And we need you to promise right now, because if you cannot do this, we've already lost. S—"
The shark bites her so hard she cannot stop herself from flinching. "That's enough," he orders. She shakes her head to remind Daemon not to react — this is shark territory, after all. "In Common, or loud enough for the Hand to hear."
Daemon returns to a higher volume. "I highly doubt his Valyrian is so proficient. How did he fare with that letter?"
The old viper answers from the shadows. "I read the first half fine enough."
"The easy half, in generic wording. How impressive. Did you even manage to translate it all?"
"The Grandmaester deciphered your depraved message. I can send him over."
The robed shadow that had yet to leave the wall fidgets; the robed shadow does not want to be sent over.
"I can do it!" Aegon calls. "Just shout. Love your work, by the way. Great use of metaphor. Don't listen to them, they only got the 'translation'. These heathens don't understand that there's no true translation from Valyrian poetics to Common. Still, you should have seen them trying to make sense of it!"
"Thank you Aegon," she says sincerely, for handing her crucial information. "But we'll manage for now."
She turns to Daemon and nods, ready to adapt to his next approach. She's trusting he has a next approach.
He speaks to her in Common once more, at a volume meant for only their three chaperones. "My brother was a pain, yes, but he was obsessed with a united realm for a reason. He chose you as his heir for a reason. Because while he never told me, he did tell me something else. And the last words he ever spoke to me in private were about you."
He's going to try again. From the expression of the shark though, he'll probably get away with no more than one or two lines. That's not enough.
Daemon sees it too. "He told me — Backup plan, I need their eyes and ears off of us. I need you to cry. Hard."
What.
Rhaenyra has spent the better part of her life learning how to not cry, refusing to cry. Because she knows how it would look for the first Queen to look so weak, and because she knows how uncomfortable it makes…
Honestly, Daemon, what if our enemies learn that you can be chased away with women's tears?
…how uncomfortable it makes men.
He grips her hands so tightly that it hurts. "So you see, Rhaenyra. It's always been you. Only you. So you must survive."
No one stops him, because it's probably exactly what they wished he would tell her, but never dared hope he would.
He sighs and grits his teeth as if he is forced to speak the next words. Rhaenyra wonders who wrote the coming line. "Do you remember when Laenor taught the children to swim in a crisis? And he had to correct them over and over again, that you must face the water as you float, or any coming wave could drown you? You need to do the same." He is in pain by the end.
Rhaena must have had fun forcing him into that line. She nods so that he might see she understands: Daemon is here alone, but this is a crew effort.
If Daemon of all people can put his pride aside, I suppose I can too.
He continues. "I know not how the Velaryons will prevail, when they'll prevail, or even if they'll prevail. But I know this: you need to face this. No one is coming for you, not in the foreseeable future. But you must accept this because you must live. For the children, for the realm, for your father."
She wants to credit her response to her skills in deception. But while she can go numb for a time — a time that is now over — Rhaenyra is no Alicent. Dragons might burn those around them, but they do not burn themselves. Her own lies cannot burn away the truth.
The truth is, Rhaenyra has had a very bad week. And Daemon knows just how to make it worse.
If blood attracts sharks, what do tears do? It's time to find out.
Daemon lets go of her hand, and she plunges back into the water. But the shark does not drag her under. No, the shark graciously catches her once more. The shark leaves his flank open enough to retrieve her spoils from his pocket. The shark holds her afloat as she gasps for breath and her throat constricts and she depends more and more on his support.
But then the water replaces the air. It drowns her voice and gushes down her throat, through her lungs, and out her eyes. More streams in with every convulsion. The stream does not stop.
The shark decides that it has seen far more appealing meals. The shark lets her sink to the bottom of the abyss. The fumes from the oils are strongest down here, and they cloy at her throat and nose and lungs. A green viper slithers towards her, but Rhaenyra now holds all the venom she needs.
"Alicent, get lost," calls the voice from the surface. "I have her."
And then he does. He pulls her back up to the surface and wraps his arms around her before she can raise her own. She warms herself against him and buries her face into his shoulder. Now high above the waves she deems it safe to breathe, and she basks in the scent of fire and brimstone and lykāpas perzot.
But she is still sobbing. She has only enough awareness to move the venom into Daemon's pocket. She is no longer deft of hand, but he notices in time to assist her. He does not ask for an explanation.
He positions himself so it looks like his face is buried in her hair, but inclines his head so he can whisper without the others taking notice. "You might want to add some shrill cries in the mix. Those are truly terrifying; no one will come near us. Avoid that pathetic whimpering Alicent is attempting over there. Too easy to ignore."
She tries to tell him to fuck off, but she chokes on her words and a shrill cry does indeed escape her.
"Good job."
They enter a "good job," "fuck off," cycle that continues for some time. Until Daemon sees reason. "Is this a very convincing performance or an actual breakdown? I can work with either, I just need to know."
She can twist just enough to claw his hand. She can see why Baela used to do it so often; it is somewhat cathartic.
He winces. "You two truly do go for the same hand. Message received."
"I did say the melancholia could turn to mania," says a sea monster from below.
The shark circles back, concerned that another creature has taken interest in his discarded prey. "That's enough." There is no opening for him to bite her, as he's not willing to place himself close enough to Daemon to reach her arm. Instead, he grabs the chain that dangles loose, the one that connects her cuffs to her neck, and he pulls. She instinctively makes the noise she does to indicate someone has crossed a line. But despite his previous training, Daemon continues — it must be important. Impressively, he also does not lash out.
But Caraxes screams, and the shark retreats.
"Fear not," he assures the sea monsters. "I understand how dragons work. Back off, would you all? Give her a moment. You cannot exactly blame her for this reaction."
"You have exactly one moment," the old viper calls. "Ninety, eighty-nine, ei…"
They both let his voice fall away.
"Darklyn wins that bet," Daemon mumbles.
She tries to ask, but more cries come out. She thinks he's about to 'praise' her again so she claws his hand as a warning.
"Rhaenyra," his voice is urgent. "You only need listen; you have a job. Do you understand what I say? Nod if you do."
She searches for a balance between steeling herself for his instructions and still crying enough to obscure them from others, but the centre is hard to find. She supposes she is as ready as she'll ever be, so she nods into his shoulder.
"First, I need tell you some things." He speaks in simplified Valyrian. His words are clipped and calculated and precise — he is in a race against time. And he has practiced. "I need to tell you about what I cannot tell you. What you cannot know. I — we know we don't deserve it, but please trust us. If something should seem amiss, do not ask yourself questions. Do not press them for answers. Should the Greens find out that you know certain things, they will never trust you. You will never be safe. I cannot say more, but please tell me you understand. Nod if you do."
She does. It's more of a nuzzle, but the point comes through.
"I need you to be your father, and the whole world is full of Rhaenyras."
"Fuck. You." she actually manages to choke out. She even says it as loud as she can for their audience's benefit.
"Someday."
The fact that he did not answer with 'gladly,' 'alright, let's go,' or even 'soon,' is what nearly does it. She nearly loses all coherence.
But Daemon brings her back. He is very goal-oriented this evening. "Next. I don't know if you just overheard Orwyle, but we already suspected they would do this. You cannot make a spectacle. They're going to say you're mad. Anything you do, they will turn it back on you. We will handle perception. We will inform the lords. It cannot be you; you must know that. There's a reason you had to grow to be so different from me when we began much as the same. It's just different. Do you understand? Nod if you do."
Fuck. She does. And she does.
But if she cannot even do that, what can she do? Right. A job. She has a job to do. Daemon will give her a job. She nods so he might finally tell her.
"I need you to promise me first, Rhaenyra. As the stars stand witness, promise me, or this is all for naught. Promise me, or I might as well use this time for a true final goodbye."
She does. Or rather, she tries.
He gets the message. He takes her face and pulls back ever so slightly to look upon her. He traces the same runes from their wedding across her forehead, and she is at first baffled that he would waste time with sentiment when such an important message is at risk. But his eyes are urgent and serious, not romantic. This is not a lapse borne of passion; he means to seal her promise as a vow. As the stars stand witness.
She nods. She is ready.
He returns to her ear to mask his message. But his voice trembles. "Rhaenyra... sometimes, to prevent adversities that might be avoidable, we need to accept that some are inevitable."
She shakes her head.
He takes a breath to steady his words, but pain still comes through. "Your job is to keep yourself as safe as you can. To make this as easy on yourself as you are able. To do whatever you think you need to do. Your focus is on you. On now. Not on later. Not on what people think. Not on your pride, a Targaryen downfall, I know. For the realm, for our family, do not make a martyr of yourself."
No wonder he made her promise in advance. He has given her the worst job imaginable. And now he adds more, so there might be no pretending to not understand what he means.
"You also cannot withdraw. Should you turn to stone, they will treat you like stone. They will treat you like an object. And neither men nor dragons can survive that treatment for long. But you also cannot, as Baela would say, erupt. They'll try to tame you, the way imbeciles do to dragons. You need to be… whatever you think you need to be."
He clutches her tighter and presses their foreheads together. "I'm sorry, Rhaenyra," he says for anyone to hear, and he means it. But he's also firm. Even though he set a trap, even though he trapped her into this promise, he means to hold her to it.
He returns to her ear. "We could make it before… but returning with Laenor still does not mean instantly freeing you. And the Hightowers have every interest in… moving as fast as they can."
She'd seen this coming already. When Aegon offered her a potion for many moons. But still.
He softens his voice as much as he can, given the situation. "This is only me speaking now. No one else. No one else heard this, no one else ever need hear this, if you wish. This is only between you and me."
She nods. She knows what is to come. The part he would not dare discuss with others.
"Do not let him think of you as a slave."
"Easier said than done," she manages to gasp.
He winces. "Have you heard the saying — every man wants a mother for a wife and a daughter for a whore?"
"Daemon, that's so fucked up."
"Think about our marriage. Think about your father and your mother. Now think about your father and Alicent."
She groans. He has a point.
"I say this because you have an advantage. The best lies have an element of truth. And while you are an amazing liar, you're an even better mother."
She cannot.
"Listen, Rhaenyra. I know quite a bit about monstrous men."
No.
"Even the vilest monsters want to feel like a hero in their own home; I would know. I also know that if you make him feel like a monster, he will act the monster. But you cannot let him see that his own choice is gone, because, unlike the green bitch over there, most men would far rather be monsters than victims. Ask my first wife."
She already knows what she needs to do, and he knows it. But it's the very last thing she wants to do.
She'd rather be dead.
"I promise it will not be forever," he says as if it matters.
"Daemon, the Black Brides never recovered. Their lives were ruined."
"But they didn't have me. You do what you need to do, I understand. Should anyone refuse to understand, I'll just kill them. Snide comment? Dead. Wrong look? Dead. I hear of whispers from the far side of the realm? Dragonride and they're dead. I cannot protect you from this, and I'm sorry. But I promise, I will protect you after."
"Ten! Nine…" Daemon must have practiced.
As if he can read her mind, he spares one more whisper. "Worry not, I practiced the last part with Darklyn and Marbrand; they understood none of it save for time. Though I never thought he'd be so literal. I owe Darkly—"
The old viper cuts him off. "That's enough!"
She cannot bear to face the waters again. She needs more air. "No. No. I'm not ready yet. I'll drown. I'll drown."
The shark tugs at her neck.
"Gently!" the green viper cries. She decides prefers the shark bite to the vipers v—
The viper's venom. The shark.
"Should I call for a blacksmith?" Daemon snaps. "To mend the hole you've no doubt made in your armour?"
She retrieves her spoils from Daemon's pocket. "Pass me to Alicent," she whispers. "And then repeat that thing about wives in Common. Snidely." As if Daemon would address the green viper in any other manner.
He nods, trusting her ability to scheme. "Pretend you still cannot stand," he whispers.
"Alright, alright!" Daemon calls to the monsters. "Alicent, take her. Just keep her away from him. Permanently, if you can."
The shark scoffs. The shark has no intention of staying away from Rhaenyra after this, she knows. The shark is obsessed with making her suffer, even past the point of his own skills. The shark had not only chained her so eagerly but incorrectly for the second time, but he had been so focused on Rhaenyra's pockets that he'd neglected to check his own. Because when he'd snatched her so quickly earlier, it had not been her own pocket most accessible to her. It had been his.
Daemon releases her into the frigid waters and the green viper coils around her before she can sink. She wants to escape from its clutches, but instead, she leans into the viper, 'pretending' she still cannot stand.
"I have her," says the viper.
"Of course you do." He watches them in silence for a time, and then he speaks his line.
Daemon has likely exhausted his creativity for the night. So he does not translate or rephrase in a particularly clever manner, nor does he fit it in very organically. But these are Hightowers, and Hightowers have little appreciation for details such as those. All that matters to the green viper is that Daemon effectively calls her Viserys's whore, whilst also pointing out just how fucked up the marriage she arranged for her son is. And whilst that might not be enough to make a lady faint, it is enough for the men that surround them to think it could make a lady faint.
Fire is not the only weapon that does not discriminate. The viper's venom poisons whoever it points to.
She stabs her in the back, of course.
Daemon is the only one to see her role in it. He's the only one to see any of it at first. "Oh!" he announces. "Two Queens going down!"
Rhaenyra is already caught in the viper's grasp and is dragged down along with her. The shark reaches them before they hit the bottom. The shark uncoils the viper and gallantly catches his Queen. He even lifts her into his arms.
But Rhaenyra is still chained. Rhaenyra is still shaky from crying. Rhaenyra was dragged to the depths in the clutches of a viper and then pushed aside by a shark.
Rhaenyra hits the bottom. Because of course she does.
Sunfyre laughs. "Justice for Rhaenyra! I knew you wouldn't let me down! You didn't go for the obvious, you went for the chaotic!"
Fortunately, the Hightowers are well-practiced at ignoring him. They might be a little too well-practiced.
Daemon does notice, however, and tries to redirect. He tuts. "This is why you don't bring women to the front lines. One jape is enough to shatter her delicate disposition."
The shark takes offence. "She's probably light-headed from the fuel. You had her sitting down there for too long," he accuses Rhaenyra as she lays chained down there. The shark turns away to meet the old viper and the robed shadow, and inclines his head for some men to take his place. Three then look between the two dragons and make a slow approach.
The waters recede and she can breathe once more. But she is still anchored, and will soon drown beneath the returning tide.
Rather than help her up immediately, Daemon inspects the anchor's chain. Once he confirms what she already knew, he does not bother to appraise the men who surround them; he simply gives her an unhappy look.
She's not going anywhere.
"The dog used an actual anchor chain? I suppose we should be flattered."
"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" she chides him. "Besides, they still have Syrax and Meleys."
"A man can dream." He lifts her to the surface once more. He lifts her to the surface for the last time.
He turns to Ser Harrold. "Ensure these approaching fools don't force Caraxes to set us all alight. Claiming such an old dragon at such a young age will not do well for my son's disposition. Have you met my least favourite brother-husband?"
Ser Harrold gives the men a warning they likely did not need. The shark was concerned with secrets, not an escape. These men seem less concerned with secrets than with the dragons that surround them.
She breaks above the waves and retreats into his shoulder. The shoulder she'd just been using is still damp, so she goes for the dry one. She'd at first thought asking her to 'fake' cry and not bringing a handkerchief had been an oversight, but she now realizes the Greens would protest him handing her absolutely anything. Also, it was far too considerate to be believable.
He holds her even tighter than before, mayhaps hoping to stop the tide from ripping her away. She's gasping again. She does not understand. Her chest did not heave this way as she drowned. Why should she struggle when she has air once more?
Daemon has a question of his own. "The fuck is this?" She'd dropped the evidence when she hit the bottom, but Daemon had apparently retrieved it along with her.
It's easier to breathe the more she smothers herself; she does not understand. "One. Free. Shot," she manages to gasp into his shoulder.
"You smuggled it using the dog?" It sounds like he's smiling.
"He's a shark today."
"Oh."
She turns her face to peek at the Hightowers. The shark has nowhere to set his Queen. Dragons block both exits, and he cannot squeeze between Sunfyre and the wall whilst carrying her so preciously.
"It is too dark for me to determine the cause," says the robed shadow.
Tyland makes some comment about 'women'. She has yet to determine the type of monster he is, aside from an unfunny one.
"No," the old viper says. "Sunfyre stays landed as long as Rhaenyra is here. Wake her up then get her up and around."
Several monsters draw closer, but Caraxes warns them from getting too close. Still, they keep a warning grip on their hilt. They may be waiting for instructions, but they will no doubt act should they push their luck.
The shadow monsters gather straw from the far ends and sniff to test for fumes. There must be less fuel the further away you get from the centre. The monster tasked with holding Rhaenyra's shawl lays it on the straw to protect their queen. They lay her down like a sleeping maiden from a fairytale.
Aegon takes notice. "You all do realize that Rhaenyra's arms are still bare? She's going to have a cold wait for the key. I'd give you my coat, sister, but then I would be cold, so I don't want to. Oh, here! I have a spare saddle blanket!"
Aegon tosses it down from Sunfyre. A shadow catches it and lays it atop their queen for warmth.
"Oops. Sorry, sister. I should have foreseen that."
"Rhaenyra," Daemon whispers. "I have no idea how long we have. I need to deliver the package."
She shudders and retreats to his shoulder.
"Rhaenyra."
She shakes her head against him. It's impossible to swim when you're already drowning, after all. She can do nothing but grasp for that last bit of air.
"Rhaenyra."
No.
He gives up on trying to coax her and rubs the back of her neck instead. "Very well. I'm guessing they'll search you completely, so my plan was to quite unromantically slip you a vial for one dose with a parting kiss. Do I still need to do that, or do you trust Westerling with a whole flask? Nod if you trust him."
She nuzzles his shoulder.
"Good. No offence, but it's not the most appealing idea right now. You would have choked, and I would have drowned."
"Fuck. Off." She chokes out. She'd felt a little bad earlier, but now she makes certain to smear her face across his clothes. Snot and all.
"Can someone help?" Daemon calls. "I think she was hurt from the fall."
She slackens her posture for the soldiers' benefit. Fortunately, none seem keen to check on a weeping Queen-in-Chains. Except for her protector. Ser Harrold arrives and Daemon shoves a small metal flask into Rhaenyra's hand. "Just do what you did with Cole."
That much she can do. Then she returns to gasping for the last bit of air. She knows not which breath will be her last, after all.
Daemon swats Ser Harrold's arm. "Do not check right now," he hisses. "Did no one ever teach you about sub-ter-fuge? Find somewhere to hide it later. Rhaenyra will tell you when to bring it."
"I'm not permitted to be alone to collude with her."
"Figure it out, or you're useless. And what the fuck is this?" He brushes her upper arm that keeps accumulating shark bites. "Get him under control."
The problem is, Rhaenyra knows that they cannot. They should not.
I promise I will be good to her. Better than she deserves, even. The realm deserves a good king, and to be a good king one must be a good husband.
"No," Rhaenyra gasps. "Don't."
It will be like Orys Baratheon and Lady Argella — I will speak to her gently, pour her wine, and wrap a cloak of protection around her shoulders.
"What?" they both exclaim. Ser Harrold does so a bit too loudly, and Daemon shushes him.
I will not begin my reign by having my sister battered.
She mumbles into him so she does not gasp. "Aemond didn't like it. When he saw my face after. He… objected."
Few things will more endear a man to a woman than letting him think he's all that stands between you and dishonour, she had japed with her stepdaughters. The best japes hold the most truth, and Rhaenyra is not the only one who knows this.
It's Daemon's turn to shudder. Then he nods into her hair. "Very well."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Mind games, Westerling. Mind games. What are you doing? Get lost. If you are seen lingering they'll inspect you too. Buy us some time with the green bitch; say you've seen this before and that you should not move her."
He does.
"And you," he squeezes her. "No more biting the hand that feeds you, if what I heard is indeed true."
She nods. "He was trying to addle me."
"Serves you right."
"Daemon."
He sighs. "As much as I appreciate your ingenuity, and this extra time, I do not appreciate that our efforts are rendered moot. At the least we now know this: you can do this."
"No, I cannot. I cannot do this. I will not survive. I had to teach them how to properly chain me to a bed, Aegon is my best friend, and I cannot use a glass candle whilst tongueless maids watch my every move."
Even Daemon has his limits for chaos, and it takes him a good while to formulate a response. "Rhaenyra, do you remember when we gave the children "practice sessions" for Aegon's secret month?"
Not one of her prouder parenthood moments, but she nods.
"We spent days preparing for this meeting. We planned for every contingency. In one scenario, I shout an alternate message whilst sword-fighting my way back to Caraxes. If I couldn't get enough privacy or you couldn't fake cry, I was ready to start fondling you to get them to turn away — worry not, we did not practice that one. It took a day of the Sea Snake pelting me with insults and chestnuts to get to the point where I could ignore the Greens and stay on track."
To be fair, someone should have done that to him decades ago. And apparently, it still did not take beyond what he rehearsed, because he is once again off track. "This morning, Rhaena locked me in a room with a sobbing Elinda Massey for two hours to desensitize me to this," he squeezes her for emphasis. "She was at least helpful. After she stopped crying, she actually gave me advice. But then she thought about how that advice was going to be used and she started crying again. Even Rhaena lost her stomach."
Someone yells for Aegon to pass down the water. The robed shadow says she should wake any moment if it was indeed from shock.
Daemon shudders. "She just left us. She said 'I taught you all you need to know with the others,' and then she wouldn't let me come out until I got her to stop crying."
Someone suggests carrying their queen inside over their shoulder. Ser Harrold says she could have injuries from the fall. The robed shadow suggests elevating her head.
"And then I said, 'what if I get so traumatized that I start crying?' And she said this is practice to not do that either because 'it's rude to claim someone else's pain' and whatnot. Mayhaps Alicent should be Rhaena's next pupil."
Rhaenyra laughs. Because she has to. Because Rhaena pretty much sent Daemon to emotional support boot camp. More importantly, he had let her. For her.
She decides to embrace the Viserys in her, and ignore the fact that part of that message was telling her to not make a rapist feel like a rapist.
Daemon remembers his purpose. "My point is, you had no idea what was happening, and still rendered most of that pointless by… stealing the viper's venom. You will figure it out. And if I can survive that, you can survive this. You are much smarter and stronger than me, after all."
"I know."
"And so is Rhaena. She is new to glass candles, but she's smart, and possibly evil. She's patient. She's dedicated. She learned that from Laena, for certain, but she also learned it from you — along with poisoning me, that is. We're going to talk about that later, by the way. — She'll master it far better than I ever did. And so will you. Wait for her. Watch for her. You can —"
Something catches his attention. "Seriously? I wasn't lying. Jacaerys and I hunted the pelts ourselves."
She holds her breath and looks into the waters. Someone has taken Daemon's coat from Ser Harrold; they lay it across the straw, then transfer their queen to her new bed. Apparently, Rhaenyra's shawl had been deemed too thin for protection. Someone now rolls it into a pillow and places it under her head.
She is distracted by the absurdity enough to recover more of her voice, and sense. She returns to the surface. "Daemon, I don't like the idea of you venturing around the world with only Caraxes and Seasmoke." She does not trust him to sleep properly. Also, it makes her scared for the world.
Daemon turns them so he might monitor the sea monsters' progress, and returns his lips to her ear. "I will have our dear husband on the way back. The real one, not the pretender."
"That's worse."
"That's what everyone keeps saying! Worry not, I have been entrusted to a 'daemon-keeper.' Rhaena and the Velaryons train him as we speak. He is not to intervene if it puts him at risk, but he is to write a report each night and deliver the log upon our return."
She again takes the Viserys approach and does not ask whose sanity her family decided to sacrifice. She settles back into her life boat and ignores the coming surge.
"Rhaenyra?"
She nods. Her throat is so swollen that she needs to be strategic with her words.
"I'm going to need to work with Jacaerys when I return."
This earns her voice. "What?"
"I know you told him something, something that's made him feel responsible for me."
"Daemon, if this is you trying to shift —"
"It's not, I promise. This is about the future. When I became too much for Rhaena, she gave up and told me off. Most people give up. But Jacaerys did not, because I think he felt like he couldn't. And I need to know, did you ever tell him he would be responsible for me if something happened to you?"
She nods.
"I need to know what you told him. I need to know how to release him. Because it was not fair to set him up like that. Even the dragon-keepers know to get out of the way before they're burned."
She tells him just enough that Jace will understand. "But… someone need manage you, if I cannot."
"That was never fair either."
"I'm sorry, secret, non-evil twin to my husband. When you murder him and take his place?"
"If you heard I was murdered at a pyre, or burned at a pyre, or eviscerated at a pyre, don't concern yourself with it."
"Alright, what happened?"
"I looked in the mirror to admire myself. But then my reflection tore me to shreds, pointed to all my flaws, and used them to set the whole mess on fire."
"Oh… Daemon, did your adolescent daughter break your heart?"
"She's so mean, Rhaenyra. She made the Sea Snake cry. But anyway, a warning. Don't expect this all the time. It took days of preparation and training for these few moments, and I'm quite certain I'm just numb. So I wouldn't get my expectations up if I were you. But... I'll do so much murder for you; I'll even ask permission first. And I'll try to lighten that daemon-keeping burden you bear. Perhaps our husband can even help."
Having married and lived with the both of them, she's about to say she does not need two imbeciles to manage at once, but they're running out of time. They're going to give up on waking their queen any moment. They're going to want to end everything so they can carry her inside. And so she searches for anything that might distract her, or she will surely panic and want for air once more. "Daemon, what are the eggs for?"
"Oh, they're just eggs. Joffrey demanded a place on the war council, so we named him master-of-arts-and-crafts; he's taking it very seriously. Also, we wanted to assure you that I told them about Laenor, and Corlys wanted to register a complaint about how I… delivered the news."
That fucking shoe story.
Daemon keeps shifting to observe the Hightowers' progress. His movements grow more urgent. "Rhaenyra, there's no guarantee it will come to this. I have no idea how long this could take, and I could be overestimating. But I will not give you false hope; there's a very good chance it will. So, are you certain about the strategy you are to pursue? Do you want me to provoke Cole as I leave?"
No. But she nods anyway.
He kisses her forehead. "Poor boy doesn't stand a chance."
Neither try to say anything after that. Rhaenyra is content with absorbing as much of his warmth as she can whilst he strokes her hair and neck, and he seems content with giving her what she wants.
Until he stiffens. "Time's up," he whispers. "I think you're in trouble."
She cannot look up to see what he refers to.
She cannot.
She cannot go back. She was numb before; she was in shock. It was not permanent. It was not real. And when it became real she went cold. Why did he have to revive her? To remind her what it is to breathe easy, only to let her fall back? There will be no shock after this, she knows already.
There will only be pain.
She cannot bring the numbness back. Her blood is returning, it surges back through her body, her head, her heart. It warms her just enough for her to feel how cold the waters are — especially since the viper has her shawl. She tries to let the cold freeze her blood once more, but she is the blood of the dragon, and the dragon has slept for long enough. And so that blood does keep flowing, and with it comes pain, fear, dread, and worst… acknowledgment
I am the Storm Queen.
"You told me I was no Argella," she gasps.
"I know."
"And you told me when I was young, that it would not be like this."
"I know."
Someone tells Daemon to drop her into the waters, but she does give him the chance. She finally raises the arms she'd been pretending were bound, the ones the shark had neglected to secure to her waist because he's been so busy, as Daemon had said, piercing a hole in his armour.
She clings to the surface. "I need you, Uncle. I cannot face the Greens alone."
"You have to."
"You're supposed to say that I can."
"Oh, right, that too. Sorry, I didn't expect this to go on for so long; I'm out of script."
The tide rises. "You cannot do this to me. I was numb. I was numb. You cannot… do this and put me back in. You cannot wake me just for this."
The poor man has no answer. She'd feel sorry for him, were she not too panicked to feel anything else.
She keeps panting, but she cannot breathe. She cannot. "I wasn't here. I wasn't here. You cannot bring me back and then leave me… You cannot pull me out when I was numb only to throw me back in."
The tide tries to pull her back to sea. But Rhaenyra has chains. Loose chains. She wraps them over one shoulder and around his arm to fight the surge. The surge tugs again.
"Ah!" Daemon yells but does not help the surge cast her off. "What the fuck are these made of, teeth?"
Once I let go I drown
I'll drown.
I'll drown.
"Let her calm down first!" calls a voice from the surface.
"She's had long enough," calls a voice from the depths. "That bitch poisoned my daughter."
Caraxes screams. Sunfyre asks him to please calm down because he does not wish to engage in a fight he cannot win.
I'm drowning.
I'm drowning.
I'm drowning.
"Even I cannot articulate a worthy comment on the irony at hand here. Except to say, mayhaps I'm not the only one who needs to get burned by my reflection."
Oh no, it's just tears.
Ugh, that's worse.
"Rhaenyra," says the voice from the surface, "I need you to let go, or this will get ugly."
The surge tugs again. Caraxes roars. The surge stops for now. She does not move. More sea monsters circle, waiting for her to fall.
"Rhaenyra, our sons are here," Daemon reminds her.
She does not let go with her hands, but she does unwrap the chain of shark teeth. Daemon winces and she realizes they must have pierced flesh.
"One moment!" Daemon demands.
"You've had enough moments," the old viper says.
Caraxes disagrees. So does Stormcloud.
Stormcloud?
Rhaenyra turns away from the surface to face the water that surrounds her. Stormcloud is now perched atop Caraxes' head. Her sons are perched atop Caraxes. Fortunately, Viserys's view is blocked, but Aegon now might live to be traumatized. "Aegon," she chokes out. "Get ready to leave. Go latch onto Caraxes' tail."
"But—"
"Now," she, Daemon, and Caraxes order. He flutters out of sight.
Daemon turns his attention to the back corner. Rhaenyra follows for a moment. The shark approaches.
"Sorry, Rhaenyra!" Aegon calls from far away. "But this is for the best. Don't worry, I know this cancels it out. I'll get you another one."
"No, you will not!" orders the old viper.
"You all are so boring."
Daemon turns back to her, more urgent than ever. "Rhaenyra, this isn't forever," he whispers. "So I need you to promise me again, so we can all do our jobs. Promise me you will do as we've asked. You have the most important job, and that begins now."
Caraxes concurs. Rhaenyra does not.
"Rhaenyra."
She does not retreat back into his shoulder though. Both sides are thoroughly soaked. She hopes he brought a change of clothes.
"Promise me, Rhaenyra. As the stars stand witness, promise me."
He spent the morning with Elinda Massey. Of course he brought a change of clothes. She almost smiles. He did a lot for her, just to have her make this promise. They all did.
"I promise."
They all risked so much; but so did their enemies. She starts to wonder again, what drove them to take on such a risk? But she stops, because she also just promised not to wonder.
She loosens her grip but still does not let go. It's Daemon that secures her to the surface now. She rests one cheek on his chest to float for as long as she is able.
"Don't get any ideas," Daemon warns the shark.
"Oh, I have plenty of ideas; worry not, you are not a part of them. No matter how comically non-threatening his voice might be, I have no desire to test your control of the noodle-necked beast."
Caraxes protests.
"He has a deviated septum. Don't listen to him, Caraxes. You're terrifying."
"I concur!" Aegon shouts. "Please do not 'get any ideas.' I don't want to fight the scary flying noodle."
The shark circles closer still.
"For fucks sake, don't you dare come closer to me with that thing! Caraxes will light you up."
"So let her go."
Daemon sighs. "Rhaenyra, look at me."
She does. She knows what's coming, but she still does. Better him than the shark. And at this point, Daemon is probably feeling left out.
Daemon spares barely a side glance to the shark. "Throw it over," he says.
"You cannot be serious," the shark exclaims.
"I don't want you near me with that thing, and you're determined to use it. Throw it over. What else am I going to do, abscond with it? Would that not also be what you want?"
She now does retreat once more, into the driest spot she can find. She closes her eyes and waits.
He moves one hand to stroke the back of her neck. "Look, I don't her final memory of me to be me prying her off of me and throwing her to the wolves."
"Sharks," she mumbles.
"Sharks," he amends. "Besides, she understands I'll get just a bit of satisfaction out of it. I've been owed this moment for years, apparently. Have Westerling bring it over. He hates me as much as you do, but he's smart enough not to risk a dragon fight. Also, I bet he has no idea what's happening."
The straw rustles around them; the sea monsters must be shuffling.
She refuses to look. She refuses to look at the surge that comes to rip her away. She refuses to listen. The hand at her neck moves along her back to her outer shoulder, and he traces a circle to warn her it's coming.
She nods, because they don't really have a choice. The waters pierce her skin and flood through her veins; they weigh her down until she can float no longer.
Daemon cackles. "Revenge at last!"
"Fuck you," are her last words to him.
"Someday. I promise," are his last words to her.
She sinks into the depths and the waters claim her once more. But she is a dragon, she remembers, and claiming does not mean taming. Sea monsters lay her amongst the straw because the viper took the blanket. And her shawl. And Daemon's coat. The ocean breeze chills her skin and rustles the straw. Breeze, not current. As sleep, or unconsciousness, or the waters finally take her, she holds on to that breeze, as unpleasant as it might be. And when she finds herself submerged once more, she does not drown.
You need to face this.
She cannot let herself be drowned by any unexpected wave. She needs to face the water.
I will.
She wonders when she will wake in her glass cage, the one where she's always watched. She need not wonder if she will wake this time. She already has an answer.
I will.
Because a glass of another kind awaits her. Her glass candle awaits her. And even if she cannot use her own, Rhaena is trying to reach her. Daemon is trying reach her. Her family, her friends, her people, they are all trying. They are all trying to reach her.
They will.
The air is trying to reach her. And it will. All she need do is wait for the waters to drain. All she need do is take care of herself. All she need do is honour her promises. All of them.
I will.